


Another Story In Which Tony Stark Plays Matchmaker

by neganstonguething



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Slice of Life, cursing, handjobs, really just gratuitously using tony's sense of humor for entertainment, spoilers for the movie "the visit", talk of masturbation, vague sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8209250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neganstonguething/pseuds/neganstonguething
Summary: Tony doesn't know how two men can be as oblivious as Steve and Bucky are, so he decides to put a stop to it. Really, it's all about being a good friend and pointing you guys in the right direction. And it's also pretty entertaining.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, this idea spawned when I woke up at three in the morning and decided I absolutely HAD to write a fic where Tony used a certain colorful reference for masturbation, and it turned into Stucky. Everything turns into Stucky for me.
> 
> And I mean, of course I take a break from chaptered works to write this gratuitous little thing.
> 
> It's an AU in which they're all buddies from college, and Tony decides to use his wealth to rent them a vacation home in the mountains. No real plot here. This is all in good fun.

“No, no, he was totally doing it.”

Bucky wishes Tony would stop talking, and he hates how the other man's face is uncomfortably genuine. He's got his head cocked in that sassy Tony Stark way that says 'I'm not bullshitting, I'm just really entertained', as he raises his beer to his lips and takes a swig. Despite what he's told Barnes, he's as casual as can be, and that only makes Bucky squirm even more.

This is supposed to be a vacation. Tony's rented them a fancy-ass log cabin way out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, where cellphone signal is balls and they're relying on wifi to do anything electronically whatsoever. But the amenities are nice, at least. An indoor pool and hot tub in the basement, enough rooms for them all to have their own, each with its own bathroom. A living room made up of one story with all its chairs and tables, and a loft up above, where a massive recreation room awaits them. It really can't get much better than this. A whole four days of this.

Except it's only the second day in and Tony is already telling Bucky stories like this little gem here. He's got Steve, Natasha, Clint, Thor, Bruce, and Sam to tell all this to, but _no_ , he has to come straight to the one guy who could do without hearing what was said.

Or in this case, done.

“I get that.” Bucky's already impatient. “And that's his business.” Seriously, who the fuck cares if Steve was whacking off? It's his dick. He can do whatever the hell he wants to it. And better yet, why're they sitting in the middle of the living room of all places to discuss Steve and his dick adventures?

“But he said your name.”

Bucky chokes on his own beer, but then forces it down. After he manages to battle down the sharp pain in his chest from the lump he'd just swallowed, he coughs out a weak, unconvincing, “...So?”

“Did I stutter, Barnes?” Tony cocks an eyebrow. He looks a little proud of himself for making Bucky nearly aspirate on his alcohol, though. “He was saying _your name_ while he whipped his nae-naes.”

' _And that's his business_ ', Bucky wants to repeat so badly. But there are so many questions flowing in that he's actually a little paranoid he might blurt one of them out instead. It isn't like Tony Stark doesn't already know Bucky wants to bone Steve right into basically every surface he can pin him against, but when the two of them get to talking about it, it always gets damned embarrassing. So he takes a deep breath and stifles the questions—all the 'was he really getting into it?'s and the 'how many times did he say my name?'s in favor of one, “What the hell were you doing listening in on him?”

“Please.” Tony rolls his eyes, and then makes a flawless demonstration of how to properly drink a beer and _not_ choke on it. “The guy may be carved like he should be a statue in an art museum, but I'm not into it. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

“His bedroom?” Bucky quips.

“Walking _past_ his bedroom.” Tony doesn't seem to take offense. If anything, he steels suddenly and leans forward. Bucky can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Look, the only reason I brought it to your attention was because I know you'd rather he be whipping _your_ nae-naes than his own, and I pretty much just heard his crush on you in action, so you can quit pining after him from a distance like the punch line in a romantic comedy and _go for it_ , already.”

In theory, Tony's right. And Bucky would be lying if he said he doesn't want to go straight to Steve right now and blow his mind(among other things). But it all seems way too good to be true. He knows that Tony can be a jokester from time to time, but he wouldn't stoop so low as to lie about something like this. Not if it would put Bucky's friendship with Steve at stake. But at the same time, isn't it a little convenient that the guy you've been in love with since you could remember suddenly happens to want you, too?

Yeah, no. Nothing's ever that cut and dry.

“Steve could have anybody.” Bucky, still in disbelief, mutters. He successfully swallows a drink of his beer this time. He can't begin to imagine what in a romantic partner Steve would ever see in him, and Tony, picking up on this, rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Please, Barnes. You're killing me right now.”

“Maybe it's the arm.” Natasha's voice is silky soft and somehow sarcastic as it penetrates the conversation between Bucky and Tony. Despite the comment, Bucky actually breathes a sigh of relief when he sees her. Natasha has a way with words that isn't as embarrassing, even when she's vying for said embarrassment.

“I did good on it, huh?” Tony raises both eyebrows at her. He and Bucky seem to have silently agreed not to question how long Natasha has been listening in.

“I didn't say that.” Natasha's looking at Bucky as she speaks. She motions to the metal limb extending out from the left sleeve of Bucky's T-shirt. “Just...maybe Steve's into that. Why else would he turn down anyone who isn't part robot?”

“Did you just call me--” Bucky frowns.

“If that's what he likes, I did.” Natasha steals a beer from the cooler on the table, then lowers herself down in the chair next to Tony. “But hey, Barnes—he's right, for once. We all know he's as into you as you're not-so-secretly into him. Just go for it.”

“You all know.” Bucky deadpans.

“Yes. Every last one of us.” Tony groans. “It sticks out more obviously than Thor's accent at a Justin Bieber show. Just...stop with the mutual longing, already.”

“Finally, someone says it!” Clint's voice echoes from the loft above, and Bucky moans uncomfortably and takes a very deliberate pull on his beverage, because _where the fuck is Steve right now._ If he were to overhear...Bucky doesn't even want to think about that.

“See?” Tony motions around him to everyone, even though Clint has disappeared back into the room on the above floor. The sound of an eight-ball game starting can be heard. “We all ship it, and we all know you ship it. So go make it canon, already.”

“You did not just say that.” Natasha's lips are in a flat line.

“I said that.” Tony brushes it off, then nods to Bucky. “Go, loverboy.”

Bucky isn't one hundred percent he's going to go talk to Steve about anything. He can't imagine what to say. ' _Oh hey, so Tony heard you spanking it to the beat of my name, and I kinda do the same thing about you, so let's hook up_ ' just doesn't sound like a good enough pick-up line for one Steven Rogers. Because being real here, even _if_ Steve is fantasizing about Bucky, it feels almost selfish to jump in and take advantage of that. What if Tony heard the wrong thing, too? There are just too many things getting in the way of Bucky actually believing this will affect anyone positively. Probably things the building anxiety in the center of Bucky's chest is manifesting, but still.

Despite that, he pushes himself to his feet and downs the rest of his drink. He doesn't clarify what exactly he's going to do—just kind of nods to Tony and Natasha and turns to walk away.

And then he stops short. He brings his focus to Natasha, who raises a single eyebrow expectantly. He uses the empty beer bottle in his flesh hand to point to his metal one. “...You said Tony didn't do a good job on my arm...?”

“Your arm is _fine_ , Barnes.” She bites back, before waving him off. “Go, _go!"_

\- - - - - -

Bucky doesn't find Steve in his room. Which, considering Tony's gratuitous reveal of the blond's more personal matters, was the first place he thought to look. But once he deems it empty, he searches the living room and recreation room with mounting anxiety(because _oh fuck_ , if Steve heard that conversation...), before his search leads him to the pool.

Of course, it's the goddamned pool. The nice, big private area with just enough lighting that Bucky can see every little detail that makes Steve so good-looking, which is basically his _everything_. His broad shoulders and perfectly shaped chest and abdomen, those arms, those _veins_...

He's on his way to the small diving board at the deep end of the pool, so Bucky catches just the right angle of his thighs and ass, too. Jesus, has he always looked this damned good? The answer is 'yes', even though it was in a different way in the past. Steve had been scrawny at one point, but years of strength training and muscle building had done some serious good for him. Bucky had been his friend since they were in grade school, though, and he had adored him even then. The thing is, Steve's personality is the most attractive thing about him, even now that he looks like a damned god. Fiesty, determined Steve. Loyal, dedicated Steve. Smart, clever Steve. And he's always had those gorgeous blue eyes.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve's voice pulls Bucky out of his thoughts, and he turns his head to see his friend standing right in front of the diving board now. He nods and quirks his lips just slightly.

“About time I found your ass.” Barnes responds, and Steve rolls his eyes.

“You've been searching for me?” He hops up onto the board and starts toward the edge.

' _Nope, I was just a little surprised when I didn't find you in your room, touching yourself._ ' Bucky bites back those words though, because fuck you, Tony Stark, for even sharing that information with him. With those details comes mental pictures, and Bucky really doesn't need to be thinking about what Steve's 'O' face looks like right now. Or maybe those wet hands sliding into his swim trunks and...yeah, no. Stopping now.

“It wasn't a goose chase or anything. Just wondering where you went into hiding at.” Bucky shrugs. He's got no intention of going anywhere near the pool. “Everyone's hanging out in the living room, and you're off swimming by yourself.”

Steve mirrors Bucky's shrug. “Good thing you showed up, then.” He dives into the water after that, and Bucky traces his form beneath the surface, as he turns, looking snakelike in the ripples, and swims clear over to the edge closest to Bucky, where he resurfaces. He crosses his arms on the ledge, waiting for his friend to join. “You can join me.”

“No.” Bucky refuses. “I'm not exactly dressed for the part.” He motions with his arms to the red T-shirt and khaki shorts he's currently wearing.

Steve cocks his head and pulls out those fucking puppy dog eyes, still leaning against his own crossed arms. Goddamn him. “That's not a very good answer. Get in here.”

He's still trying to decide if he's going to do as apparently the entirety of the rest of their vacation group seems to be pushing for him to do. It's a terrible idea, but then Steve pulls out shit like _this_ , and Bucky's melting under Steve's piercing gaze like hot wax, and the words are almost begging to pour out.

So, the next thing he knows, he's undressing. The shirt and shorts come off, leaving a baggy pair of dark blue boxers, and as he jogs to the diving board, he kicks off his shoes and socks. And then he's canonballing in.

He opens his eyes as he sinks to the bottom of the deep end. Twirls a bit so he can look around. Steve has spun to watch him, and Bucky observes as his friend pushes himself away from the edge and swims his way out into the middle of the pool. He grins and resurfaces a few feet away. Once he can breathe again, he wipes his long hair out of his face. “Better, now?”

“Yeah.” Steve answers playfully. He looks like a kid right now, with that big shit-eating grin and the way he's slowly treading closer. Bucky knows what he's about to do, so to avoid being dunked, he darts to the side. He smirks and laughs, and Steve tries again. Another miss.

“Lemme guess.” Bucky teases, treading backward toward the shallow end. “You were gonna tell me you had me exactly where you wanted me. This isn't the first time we've pool-wrestled, Stevie.” Bucky may be smaller than Steve, but he's got enough fight in him to win a pool-wrestling match or two.

“Did I say that?” Steve's still grinning childishly as he advances. By now, both he and Bucky can touch the bottom, so they're just walking. It almost looks like a dance. “Maybe those were just fake-outs for _this_.”

Somehow, it's easier to dodge swimming than it is standing. Now that Steve has leverage on the bottom of the pool, he can launch himself without too much effort toward Bucky. He's tall, so he gets close more quickly, and the next thing the older man knows, he's collapsing backward under Steve's grip on his upper arms. Both their bodies create a giant splash as Steve submerges them. The force is so great that Bucky actually feels his shoulders hit the ground. He opens his eyes and kicks his feet out, trying to fight his friend off, but to no avail. Steve's just too strong.

Too incredibly, perfectly strong.

So Bucky does the next thing he can think of doing. He seizes the larger man's forearms and wheels them around so that he's got the top. Pulls them both up for air, then shoves Steve back under the water. They wrangle like that for what feels like a good ten minutes, splashing and laughing and coming up out of breath by the end of it. And when they're done, they step out of the water and move to one of the benches surrounding the pool.

And they talk. They talk and laugh and joke for well over an hour. This is what Bucky loves—being able to converse so freely with Steve. If he _did_ take the plunge and tell Steve how he really felt, he would be risking this. This happiness, this closeness. Being able to talk to Steve about anything. And even if the reason Tony thinks he should say something originated from a rather interesting thing he'd heard Steve say, Bucky still has his doubts. Understandably. He'd take being silently in love with Steve and being his best friend at the same time any day over fucking up everything by telling him _just_ how much he loves him.

Besides, if Steve's resorted to jerking off in privacy while fantasizing, he's obviously not ready, either.

But Bucky'd be lying if he said he hasn't stolen a glance or two at Steve's lips during this whole thing. He wonders how soft Steve's mouth would feel on his, and what kinds of sounds he could elicit just by kissing alone. It's no secret he's got experience with other partners, so he'd know what he was doing. But kissing Steve Rogers is somehow on an entirely different plane than anyone else. Like thinking about kissing the Pope, or Jesus himself. Or Obama. Except, way more attractive and way more bisexual.

“...Earth to Bucky.”

Bucky realizes with a start that he's totally spaced out, and anything Steve has said over the course of the past couple of minutes has gone in one ear and out the other. Goddamn you, Tony Stark, making him think about this shit more often than usual. And 'usual' is enough, thank you very fucking much.

“Sorry. Zoned out there for a sec. Must be kinda tired.” Bucky scratches the back of his head. “What were you saying?”

“That we should go get food. I swear I can smell lil' smokeys from here.”

\- - - - - - -

“I'm telling you, he can do it.” Bucky's holding up a fork, upon which he has speared eight lil' smokeys. He's stacked four on one side and four on another, and he's smirking and waving it across the table, at Thor. “This guy, he doesn't look it—but he's got a bigger mouth than all of us.” He then passes it to Steve, who cringes visibly.

Steve rolls his eyes and takes the fork. “It's not that big.”

“Don't let him fool you. He's got this.” Bucky's egging him on, mostly to get him back for tackling him in the pool, or just making him get in there in the first place, really. And there's also the unspoken fact that this used to be something they did in high school during lunch hour on, you guessed it, lil' smokey day. He and Steve and even Sam when he transferred in their senior year—they would gather around their table and make bets on who could eat the most smokeys in one bite. Steve almost always won.

Thor seems up to the challenge, at least. He grins and impales just as many of the barbecue-covered sausages on his own fork. “Let us place our money where our abnormally large mouths are, then. I accept your challenge.”

“I never challenged you--” Steve doesn't feel like choking today.

“--too late, Cap.” Clint cheers from another spot at the table. He had at one point been on the same football team as Steve, hence the 'Cap' nickname. “We've all already got our cameras out.”

And really, they do. Natasha, Clint, Tony, and Sam are all holding their phones up. Bruce is the only one without one out, and he's sort of shaking his head from his spot next to Tony. Bucky thinks he's probably contemplating whether or not he's going to end up doing the Heimlich at some point during all this. Bruce has the misfortune of being the one med student in the group. The very reckless, very adventurous group.

Thankfully, there is no need for a Heimlich. Steve loses the battle with flying colors, eventually spitting out two of the sausages onto his plate, while Thor scarfs all eight of them and the table erupts into cheers. Next to Steve, Bucky has joined everyone in their cheering. To silence him, Steve pops a smokey into his mouth. It works, but only for about three seconds, as Bucky has no problem chewing the thing up and swallowing it.

“Good try, assho—“ Bucky's caught mid-retort as he feels the gentle brush of Steve's thumb along the bottom right side of his mouth. His finger is warm—rough, probably from all the time he spends with a paintbrush or pencil in his hand. Bucky likes it, though, and he almost feels a little drunk on the contact, and the sudden realization that he and Steve aren't that far away. He tips his head up just barely (because he's not _that_ much shorter than Steve) to look his friend in the eyes, and Steve merely shrugs.

“You had barbecue sauce on your face.”

“...Oh.”

Suddenly, Bucky can feel eyes on him. And not just Steve's or Tony's, but _everyone's._ Even Bruce and Thor seem to be watching him carefully. Waiting for his next step. Right...they had all probably been expecting Bucky to have talked to Steve by now. His throat feels tight, and he stands up.

“...Buck?” Steve, in that concerned way of his, is the first one to speak up.

“Just gotta pee, Steve.” Bucky reassures, as he ducks out.

And then he's suddenly frustrated. Whose goddamned business is this whole situation, anyway? Not theirs, right? This is between him and Steve, and yet, those eyes were all on him just now. Probably scrutinizing—wondering just why Bucky hadn't said anything, right? Of course. Maybe they think they're being good friends or some shit. But in all reality, this is exhausting. Bucky has dwelled on it ever since Tony brought it up, and now, he feels a little sick to his stomach. This is more delicate than just...coming out with it.

Or is it?

As Bucky stares into his reflection in the bathroom, he wonders if maybe he's blowing this whole thing out of proportion. Maybe everything really is already laid out for him. Maybe Steve's waiting on him to say something. Maybe Steve has been for a long time, and they've both been mutually pining for one another without either of them realizing it. And following that line of thinking, maybe it's been unfair for Bucky to have been just waiting on the off-chance that Steve might feel the same way and say something.

He hates how much he's dwelling on this, and as he washes his face, Bucky growls under his breath and splashes some of the water up at the mirror. Unsatisfied, he storms out.

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Tony Stark standing there, looking as casual as ever. The flush on his face tells Bucky that he might be a little tipsy, too.

“Oh good, you're finally out. I thought I was going to have to call Banner in on this one--”

“Shut up.” Enough sarcasm. Bucky's not in the mood for it right now.

“Not a problem. I have to pee, so if you'd just...go that way a bit so I can get through...”

“Why'd you tell me about Steve, earlier?” Bucky doesn't _go that way_ , not even a little bit, and it kind of makes his suggestion for Tony to shut up sound pointless. “What good did that do?”

“None, obviously. Lesson learned, alright?” Tony's getting a little impatient, himself, and Bucky figures he really must have to pee with that sense of urgency. But he doesn't move yet. “Look, I already told you why I talked to you about it—you guys need to quit with the unresolved sexual tension and figure your shit out, already.”

“Did you really think I would say something to him?” Bucky is visibly frustrated, in more ways than he cares to admit. This discussion, even if he's the one who instigated it, isn't helping any. “I've got twenty years of friendship riding on this. _Twenty_. If I say the wrong thing, we might as well forget all of that.”

“Why do you think that?” Tony looks genuinely perplexed.

“Did you even _listen_ to what I just said, Stark? This is about so much more than what anyone said in their bedroom while--”

“--No, idiot.” Tony bites back. “You think I didn't factor in the weirdly close friendship between you two? Think I don't _care_ what happens to it if you say the wrong thing? Trust me—if I'd wanted to come in and be a homewrecker, I'd have come up with something way better than just “oh, I overheard your wannabe boyfriend moaning your name in the throes of self-induced passion”. The thing is, you guys need each other, in this borderline creepy, confusing way. I see it, Natasha sees it, we all do. And if you guys would just _get past_ this crossroads you've been at for _years_ , it wouldn't _be_ so weird or confusing or creepy.”

There's a moment where Bucky's downright speechless. It isn't like he thought Tony was trying to sabotage anything. Believe it or not, he trusted the guy for a lot. But sometimes he got careless, and made reckless decisions, and Bucky is cursing himself for thinking it, but he'd been under the impression that Tony had brought up this entire thing to him out of the sheer desire for a little entertainment. He's starting to realize otherwise, though, because Tony's face is uncharacteristically serious for a moment.

He _knows_ Tony cares, and he knows they'll always be friends. The fact that he had let his thoughts get away from him and started thinking Tony was anything but trying to help is what makes him feel like shit.

“You guys are happy around each other. You melt like cotton candy in the rain, into this saccharine...goopy love puddle, and if you think for a second I'm about to ruin that, I'm disappointed in you. Besides, your crush? He's basically a poster child for undying loyalty. You can say any awkward thing you want and he'll still be by your side, wagging his tail.” And with that, Tony brushes past Bucky and into the bathroom, leaving him to just...gawk at the door, as if there's something else that might be said. Bucky sure as hell doesn't feel as angry as he had a moment ago. If anything, he feels guilty, and he actually finds himself deciding to wait for Tony to finish in the bathroom so he can apologize and maybe thank him for trying.

“...Bucky."

Bucky glances almost shamefully up at Steve in the hallway. He wants to question why the blond came looking for him, but he knows better. Steve is always going to be able to see right through him. He knows something's wrong, and if Bucky's being honest here, he wouldn't be surprised if Steve has known from the minute he and his friend went swimming in that pool that something's been off. And now, there's a chance he just witnessed Bucky ripping Tony a new one. Yep, that makes him feel real good. Especially the context.

“Steve...” Bucky mumbles, and Steve does that thing he always does, where he crosses his arms and leans back against the nearest wall. Slaps on that mother hen face and just waits for Bucky to keep talking. _“_...How much did you hear?” He almost feels guilty for the question, because does it even matter? But it _does._ It does, so much. Here Steve is, ready to lend an ear, and Bucky's wondering just how much he has to confess.

“I came in right around the time he called you an idiot.” Steve, for how much he heard, is surprisingly nonchalant. Bucky doesn't know how to deal with it. Isn't this a bigger deal? Hadn't he just basically overheard Tony calling them _both_ out on their feelings? And he's just going to stand there, with his arms crossed, and chat?

Steven Grant Rogers, your patience is unrivaled by anyone or anything else. And damn, do you ever look good leaning up against the wall like that, with your brow scrunched and your arms folded over your tight chest...

“Oh, jeez. Steve...” Bucky's throat is dry. How does he explain any of this? He can't just leave Steve to Tony's frustrated words. That isn't fair, but...god, where to start... “Can we talk about this outside?”

\- - - - - -

Outside of the living room is a patio that overlooks the view of the mountains Tony had rented their cabin in. For 'bumfuck nowhere', it actually isn't bad. They're high enough up that they can see the way the trees drop down and the single road leading up to their cabin slopes. It's dark out now, so the view is almost impossible to see, and after a hundred feet or so, it disappears entirely. So it's just Bucky and Steve, out on the reddish-painted patio-balcony thing, with a single tiki torch off to the side serving as both lighting and bug repellent.

There's some patio furniture—a couch and two big armchair-looking things—but Bucky forgoes them in favor of the wood railing at the edge of the patio. He hears the glass door slide shut behind him, and then Steve leans up against said railing next to him. Even after Tony had said things that couldn't really be misinterpreted into something less suggestive, here Steve is, right beside him, just as Stark had predicted. Probably observed for years, now.

This whole thing has probably been as frustrating for Tony and everyone else as it has Bucky, huh? Maybe even for Steve. Even now, Bucky can remember little moments when they _could_ have done something, but hadn't. He and Steve are roommates, for fuck's sake. Neither of them ever had a problem entering the bathroom while the other was showering, or walking around half-naked in the apartment. There had been times when Steve would catch Bucky's gaze in just the right way, and Bucky would have to tear his gaze away to avoid moving in and closing the gap between them entirely. Little moments where both hands touched the coffee pot handle at the same time, or both bodies moved to get out the door for work, seeing Steve's eyes and mouth and body up close...

Bucky's always known about his feelings for Steve. He just...isn't sure about Steve's. And he can't blindly go in, trusting that everyone else is right, without confirming it with Steve himself. He knows the others mean well, but this is his and Steve's thing, and if they're going to get past any crossroads, they have to do it right.

“You don't have to explain much.” Steve's perceptive, which helps a lot in this situation, but at the same time, it makes Bucky even more nervous. “Tony's good at getting the point across.”

“Yeah.” Bucky's suddenly very interested in trying to pick out just how far he can see into the scenery before it fades into nighttime darkness.

“So he made up some story about hearing me saying your name while I...you know.” Steve surprisingly doesn't sound as awkward as Bucky has been bracing for, and it gives the older of the two a little more courage to speak up.

“...Is it true?” Bucky tears his focus away from the night-darkened trees and mountain terrain to look up at his friend.

Steve hesitates. Swallows nervously, even reaches up to scrub at the back of his neck. Bucky thinks he might see the blond's cheeks and ears turning pink, but he doesn't say anything. Just waits patiently for an answer.

“I wasn't moaning your name, at least.” Steve finally manages, clearing his throat.

The words are both relieving and disappointing. “So Tony made up that part in hopes that I'd act upon what he heard...or something.” He's a little frustrated with Stark for that one, but at the same time, he supposes the guy meant well. The whole 'matchmaker' game is a little high school, but...well, if he and Steve have been dancing circles around one another for this long, there's probably some necessity for a little push like that.

“Well, he's not wrong.” Steve admits, and _how does he do that?_ Bucky's reeling, because Steve looks hesitant, but the words are coming out like it's nothing. Almost like he's been practicing them. But that's typical Steve Rogers for you, too. He could talk his way through a war if he felt the need to.

Bucky swallows dryly. “Y..You're gonna have to clarify.”

“Well, I think about you. I just don't say your name.” A nervous smile, and then he's off on a tangent. “And I do gravitate toward you, and I do feel comfortable enough to melt around you. And yeah, maybe I have thought about what it would feel like to let myself get caught up in one of those long, quiet stares and...”

What a time to get lost for words. Bucky's gawking at him, silently groping out for more. He wants to hear it—hear him say what they both know he's thinking his throat is dry, and he contemplates finishing the sentence, but maybe, just maybe, it's Steve's turn.

How different this entire thing was from anything Bucky was used to. This wasn't a one night stand with some other person for a little physical relief. This was discussing the fact that he had had feelings for his best friend for years. Agonizing, frustrating _years_.

“So do it.” The older man somehow manages, and because he just can't take another glimpse of the dark mountain view, he turns and rests his back and elbows against the balcony rail.

And Steve, like the fucking knight in shining armor he is, gallant and graceful, swoops in. Bucky looks up just in time to see him standing in front of him, and watches as Steve's hands find the rail on either side of his body. Bucky sees the way his blue eyes scan every last inch of his face, before they meet his own gaze. They're nervous, but Bucky somehow manages the gumption to raise his hands to the other man's waist and curl his fingers in the belt loops of Steve's shorts. He ever-so-gently tugs him closer.

And then Steve kisses him. Soft, and gentle, and somehow more overwhelming than Bucky could have ever been ready for. It's slow, and it lingers, and when Bucky finally breaks it off, his hands have at some point come to both sides of Steve's face. He pulls back just enough that he can see the younger man's eyes. Big, glistening blues that he can see even in the dim patio lighting. He adores those baby blues.

“How long?” Steve asks. There's an understood 'how long have you liked me?' that Steve knows his friend will pick up on.

Bucky shakes his head. “I can't remember. Stupidly long.” He doesn't remember exactly when he'd gone from loving Steve like best friends did to being _in love_ with him, but Steve has just validated it all for him. He knows he loves him, and he shows it in the best way he can right now, by throwing his arms around Steve's body and caving in to every little, tiny urge he's ever had. Kisses him full-on, and groans just slightly at the way Steve's arms curl around his waist and ball into fists in the back of his shirt. He feels the cool breeze as the article raises somewhat off his lower back and reveals his skin. Steve is almost lifting him off the ground, he's holding him so tightly.

And for several moments, they're lost in that embrace. The breeze and the faint tinkling of music from inside the building are the only sounds around them, and Bucky doesn't even hear that much. The roaring in his ears is too loud, and he feels like his heart is going to beat straight out of his chest. Before he even knows what he's doing, he's got his hands between their bodies, roaming along Steve's clothed torso and chest, pushing him backward toward that patio furniture. He enjoys the little inhale that comes from Steve as that couch comes into contact with the backs of his legs, and gives a gentle push to urge him down onto the cushions. He plants himself in Steve's lap and cups his face, leaning in for another kiss.

But he stops short and leans back before their mouths resume contact. He drinks in the way Steve looks, with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. Smiles a little and brushes the thumb of his flesh hand along the younger's lower lip. “What about you?”

Distractedly, Steve comments, “What about me?”

“How long?”

For a moment, the blond looks genuinely contemplative. But it doesn't last long. Steve smiles. “The night after we graduated high school, you came out to me.”

Oh, this. Bucky remembers this. He lets Steve continue, though.

“There was that big party. All of us were there—you, me, Natasha, Sam, Tony...everyone. And since Tony threw the party, there were a bunch of kids from school that we didn't even know. There was alcohol. A lot of it. You were walking around carrying a vial of tequila. Offered me a drink, but I told you it smelled like—“

“—like it would burn a hole clean through your esophagus. You ended up drinking that night, anyway.”

“I did.” Steve laughs. At some point during his story, Steve's arms have moved back around Bucky's waist and he's absentmindedly playing with the back of his shirt. “Anyway, you were drunk. Took me outside and started going on about how you weren't sure what you wanted to do with your life, and how you felt lost. How you had so much under your belt, but didn't know if any of it was your calling. And then you just outright said “I spent all these years under the impression that I'd have everything figured out when the time comes, and here it is. I'm here, and I'm still clueless. But hey, I figured out I'm into guys, so there's that at least!” You were really upset. Probably didn't realize you even came out to me.”

“I did realize it.” Bucky admits. It's been so long ago that it doesn't really bother him. His high school self had been a mess. A confused, pressured mess who had thought he had to amount to something right then and there, or his life was ruined. The Bucky today knows better, though he admittedly still hasn't figured his goals out. Nearly eight years later, and he's still trying to get that together. He remembers talking to Steve about that a few years back, and how they broke out singing _Swing Life Away_ afterward. They were both drunk that day.

“Oh.” Steve hesitates somewhat, but smiles regardless. Moving on. “Well, you were really flustered afterward. Told me you hadn't even come out to your parents yet, and that you didn't want to disappoint them any more. And it occurred to me that you trusted me with your insecurities and your confessions more than you trusted anyone else. And suddenly, I wanted to make everything okay for you. Wanted to make good on that trust, and maybe even show you that the world isn't going to end just because you aren't ready to dive right into college. That your sexuality has nothing to do with your worth as a person. And I probably loved you before that, but--”

Bucky can't resist any more. Steve is so sentimental, throwing out the 'l' word so casually. Or maybe he really does feel that way, but Bucky can't take it. There's so much to process right now that he stops their conversation short by way of a rough, needy kiss. His hands are on Steve's shoulders as he parts his lips, and he moans shamelessly against Steve's mouth when the blond mirrors it. Pushes his chest flush against Steve's and rocks his body into the younger man's. The friction elicits a pleasant grunt from Bucky, and he actually moves to grind his hips down onto Steve's.

They both moan, and Steve cups Bucky's face in his hands and pulls him back. He feels those big hands on his face, and the way Steve's thumbs brush his cheekbones practically makes him melt right there in his grip.

“C'mon.” Steve urges sweetly as he helps Bucky to his feet.

After Steve takes his hand and laces their fingers together, things get a little blurry for Bucky. He hears the sound of the sliding glass door like he's underwater, and as they step inside and Clint sees their hands and starts a cheer, it still sounds fuzzy. There's clapping and excited chanting, and everyone's blurry and hard to make out, but Bucky looks up at Steve, and there's his clarity. Smiling down at him, taking the side of his face into his hand, and kissing him all over again. The cheers grow louder, but Bucky doesn't care. The fuzzy sound becomes clearer, but Bucky's anywhere but focused on it. He's got Steve's shirt fisted into his fingers at his shoulderblades and he's holding on for dear life, because he honestly feels like this is too good to be true.

Even now, when he can taste Steve on his tongue, feel the warmth of his body, hear his breathing, it still feels like this is too easy. After all those years, things just don't fall into place like this. Call Bucky a cynic, but he believes it to be one of the biggest truths about today's world.

But everyone is so happy, and Steve is suddenly laughing into the kiss, and then Bucky's laughing, touching Steve's face, trailing his fingers through his hair, trying to understand just _how_ he's managed to get so damned lucky. Neither of them care how stupid they look, standing there and giggling to each other. It's just starting to hit them that they took this damned long, wasted so much damned time. They feel ridiculous for not realizing things sooner, but it's okay, because the feeling is mutual. It always has been mutual.

Bucky smiles and breathes out, “Bedroom...” against Steve's lips. His eyes are closed and he almost feels drunk in the way he collapses forward against Steve's body. Steve laughs and curls an arm around his waist.

“Okay, okay, but you're gonna have to help me with the walking, Buck...”

What Steve realizes, as he slides his hand down from around Bucky's waist and takes his hand to lead him away, is that 'bedroom' is a pretty vague term. Bucky wants to go there so they can have some privacy (because really, the cheering was cute and endearing in its own right, but it's time to go handle this somewhere else), but they don't have to get into that romp Bucky's been fantasizing about since he can remember. He wants to talk about it, laugh about it, enjoy just feeling out what the future holds from here.

But he's not _against_ the idea of a romp, either. His lips are still tingling pleasantly from the contact with Steve's, and the whole experience has him feeling a little starstruck. How did he get so lucky? He has yet to stop asking himself that. Steve is on a whole other level. Bucky doesn't deserve him—never will. Steve's facetious and can be feisty, but he is also so pure. So perfect. There's no way Bucky could ever hope to compare to that.

Somehow, they breach the stairs, the balcony that wraps around at the top of the stairs, and reach the nearest bedroom—Steve's. Bucky won't deny that he's made it a little more of a challenge by pushing Steve up against a wall here or a rail there to steal a few more heated kisses, but Steve's vigilant, and they somehow get there. He barely remembers the door opening and closing, before they're both in the room and practically stumbling to the bed.

Somehow, they get there. Bucky recalls seeing Steve's body collapse backward onto the mattress, and he remembers crawling atop the larger man and assaulting his mouth and neck and jaw in hungry kisses. He remembers Steve curling one of those strong arms around his waist and moaning his name in just the right pitch to ignite each and every one of Bucky's nerve endings. And then there's a lot of wrestling. Mouths panting against one another, bodies rolling. Laughter, kissing, gasping, hips grinding, and it isn't until Bucky's hand slides beneath Steve's shirt that they slow down a little.

“...We're really doing this.” Steve says, and Bucky laughs against his throat.

“Yeah...we are.” Bucky agrees. “Are you surprised?”

Steve laughs this time amidst turning his head to bury his face in the hair dangling from the side of Bucky's hair. “Yeah, kind of. And at the same time, I'm not.” He pulls at the hem of Bucky's shirt and bites back a moan as the older man sits up to tug the article off his body. “We're both smart and perceptive in our own ways, but we're embarrassingly dense, apparently, when it comes to one another.”

Bucky's laughing again as he lowers himself down to bury his face in the crook of Steve's neck. A kiss is pressed there. “I was pissed at Tony. But my dumb ass wouldn't have done anything without him saying something.”

Steve ruffles the back of his hair and kisses his temple. He doesn't say anything. They both know Bucky will stuff his foot into his mouth and come up with an apology for Tony another time. Instead, they focus on what Stark wanted them to focus on—each other. Steve curls his fingers around Bucky's metal shoulder and urges him back, switching their positions. He smiles down at Bucky sentimentally, as his hands find the smaller man's and their fingers lace together.

And then they're kissing. They're kissing, slowly and sweetly, and Bucky's arching up into Steve's chest. He tips his head sideways and kisses the corner of Steve's mouth, then parts his lips and seeks out the younger man's tongue with his own.

There is no time for words at this point. Bucky is too busy enjoying the kiss, throwing a leg around Steve's waist to pull him down against him, grinding his hips upward. He breaks the kiss only to release a low, breathy moan when the friction starts to get to him. It's only a matter of time before he uses his grip on Steve's hands to push him up and back, shamelessly tugging at his shirt, and then the snap to his pants. He's not patient enough to remove them all the way. Just enough that they can touch freely.

It's quick and needy, the way they seek out their release. So focused on _more kissing_ and _more touching_ and _more, more, more, not enough, I need more_ , to really take their sweet time. It's a simple matter of minutes before their heated mutual-stroking has devolved into panting, gasping, moaning, and eventually that sweet release they had both been pining after. And once their bodies are done trembling from their mutual climax, they're laughing yet again. Laughing, because how could they have been so blind? Because Tony's little idea was actually kind of entertaining. Because they've got so much lost time to make up for, and because god, do they ever love one another so much.

The laughter fades after a few moments, and Steve rolls over onto his side. He props himself up on his elbow so that he can look down at Bucky. However, he isn't the one to speak first.

“So, was it anything like you fantasized?” Bucky questions with a smile that looks almost goofy in the afterglow.

“What do you mean—oh...” Steve just barely gets the question out before he realizes Bucky's referring to the thing that had started this entire ordeal in the first place. Tony had exaggerated it a little, but Steve had already come clean on the fact that while he hadn't been moaning Bucky's name, he sure had been thinking about him. He scratches at his hip with his free hand—a nervous gesture. “I don't think any fantasy can beat the real thing, Buck.”

Bucky's been thinking of a retort the entire time Steve has been speaking—something about his own skills winning against Steve Junior any day—but then Steve gets all sentimental and wipes that teasing grin right off his face. So instead of being funny or facetious, Bucky is stuck there, gawking like a deer in the fucking headlights at him instead. And then like a fish out of water, mouth opening and closing repeatedly as he seeks out a good enough response.

Which turns out to be an impulsive shove against that perfect chest, with just enough power and shock value to knock Steve off of his elbow and onto his back once more. But before he can say anything, Bucky's leaning over him, kissing him full on the mouth. An intense, lingering kiss that sucks the air straight from both men's lungs, and when Bucky finally pulls back, they're both gasping for air.

“...I love you, Steven Grant Rogers.” Bucky manages breathlessly.

Steve laughs, yet again. Laughter must be their thing. “I love you too, Buck.”

\- - - - -

Morning is surprisingly normal. No swarm of fellow cabin-mates itching to know all the gory details about Steve and Bucky's bedroom adventures—which, mind you, went on for quite some time—, and no 'I told you so' from Tony. It almost feels routine, the way the two men emerge from Steve's room and gravitate toward the coffee pot. Steve pours them both a mug and Bucky starts up some toast. The others are gathered on the various pieces of furniture in the living room, enjoying their own respective breakfasts. Tony has Bruce at the the main table, helping him nurse the hangover he'd earned last night. Clint and Natasha are watching a movie Bucky immediately recognizes to be _The Visit_ , and Thor and Sam are nowhere to be seen.

Bucky takes the lead and Steve follows him to the sectional that wraps around the television Natasha and Clint are watching.

“Just wait until you get to the part where she starts sundowning.” Bucky announces, and he immediately finds himself on the receiving end of a decorative pillow to the face. It's a wonder he doesn't double back and spill hot coffee everywhere, but he somehow manages. The pillow falls to the floor in front of the couch and Bucky takes a seat at one end. Steve curls up next to him.

“Don't be an asshole and spoil things.” Natasha's voice is less harsh than her words, and she softens visibly when she sees the two men comfortably wrapped around one another. “Just watch the movie.”

“I haven't seen it.” Steve adds, and Bucky shrugs.

“ _Fine_.” He teases. “You guys are no fun.”

“It's pretty creepy when she starts chasing them under the house.”

Natasha is frighteningly fast when she hears Tony's voice. The pillow is no longer on the floor and has instead made its way to Tony's face, and with enough force to make him stumble back a pace or two. “I'm not kidding, Stark.” She growls threateningly.

“Are you hungover, too?” Tony dares to ask. He's a little surprised when he doesn't find another pillow in the face. He takes a seat down on the couch on the other end. Natasha and Clint are settled comfortably in the middle.

“Where'd Bruce run off to?” Natasha deflects expertly.

“He decided to dwell out his misery in his own room.” Tony shrugs. “Fine by me, as long as he doesn't barf in my lap again.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “He barfed in your lap?”

“Yep.” Tony wrinkles his nose as he responds. “We all got caught up in a drinking game last night, and he got the short end of the straw every time.”

“Circle of Death?” Bucky questions.

“Circle of Death.” Tony confirms.

And then Bucky opens his mouth to apologize. The words are literally just about to come spilling out when Tony raises a hand and shakes his head. “I don't give two snowballs in space what you and Rogers did last night. Just as long as you did it.” He ignores the way Natasha and Clint both cock the same exact eyebrow at the same time. The simple fact of the matter is that he and Bucky can discuss this later if they must. For now, things are okay.

“No, seriously.” Clint speaks up this time, glancing dully between Bucky and Tony. “Tryin' to watch this movie.”

On the television screen, the grandmother is seen darting across the screen in the nude, clawing at the nearest door.

 


End file.
